CHAPTER 14
"WHISKEY SOUR"
Amy Dodd placed a napkin with a red star printed on it and a cold beverage on top of that. The guy was obnoxious and had semi-bad breath, but as long as he kept ordering drinks, she could give a shit. She offered Bad Breath a lukewarm smile, turned her back to the bar and faced a line of countless bottles in front of a bar length mirror.
Amy pretended to check several of the liquor bottles and make notes in her book. Amy pulled a weathered notebook from her low cut denims and pretended to make a note in it. Someone called from the end of the bar and she walked over. Markus Pavlov leaned on the bar, wearing tacky sportcoat over a tight wife beater. His undershirt appeared to glow brilliantly in the Red Star's black light. Markus was grinning like an idiot, but Amy tried to ignore it.
"What can I do for you, Markus?"
Markus pinched his lower lip and started to play with it.
"Oh, I can think of things that you could do to me. Or even things that I could do to you? What you say?"
Oh, just what I need, Amy thought.
"Cut it out. I'm working, here. Did you want something to drink or are you just trying to piss me off?"
He turned around and leaned against the marble bar. Markus looked over his shoulder and laughed.
"One of these days, you will come around. I know girls like you. You know what women used to call me back in my homeland?"
"No."
"Do you want to know?"
"No."
"The jackhammer. They call me the jackhammer. You know why they call me the jackhammer?"
This fucking guy, Amy thought. Maybe I should quit and go back to school. Be the vet that Mom always wanted me to be.
"Markus, I have work to do. Goodbye." Amy walked away when Markus turned around again and beckoned her to come back. She did not. Amy stood at the other end of the bar, gliding a rag over the surface. Markus appeared in front of her.
"Come now. Don't be like that. I'm tired very."
"Go away."
Markus didn't seem to hear.
"We brought in the one man, the man who shot up Toby's? You know what I talk of?"
Amy decided that she shouldn't wear any more revealing clothing to work. She liked the extra tips that she got for the push up halter tops, but it was always the same story with some of the customers; it just wasn't worth the hassle.
"I had to hit him many times."
"Markus, why are you telling me this?"
"You I like Amy Dodd. You remind me of a woman i knew back in my homeland. Did I tell you what they used to call me in my homeland?"
Amy put down the rag, placed her palms on the bar and leaned over in Markus' face.
"Leave. Me. Alone."
Markus reached up and touched Amy's chin with his knarled claw.
"You're so pretty, Amy Dodd. You've been told this, yes?"
Amy thought about taking his hand and twisinting his fingers into a pretzel. Maybe yank the half full bottle of Grey Goose behind her and bounce it off Markus' skull. Then spit on him. And dance on his face. She was wearing the perfect shoes for it.
Instead, she just turned away from the bar and faced the bottles. She could see Markus' reflection in the mirror, Markus checking out her ass, Markus leering like a fool, Markus not caring if she knew that he was watching. He finally turned heel and moved away from the bar. Amy clenched her knuckles, shut her eyes, and took a deep breath. She made the decision to find another gig. The bartending was okay, steady work, but not in a place like the Red Star. A man like Markus could never be 86'ed because he was one of the house boys, under the protection of Makar.
"Fuck this noise." Amy said under her breath.
"Hey."
Amy opened her eyes and looked into the mirror. Behind her sat a man with his elbows resting on the bar holding a lit cigarette. He wore a black tee shirt and looked as if he hadn't slept in days. She noticed his dark eyes making eye contact with her soft green ones in the mirror. Amy turned around and faced the new guy.
"You know California state law says that you can't smoke that in here."
"I'm sure that California state law says a lot of things."
He pulled of his cigarette and inhaled, then dropped the stog into the dregs of a nearby whiskey sour. Brown Eyes put his hands up as if to say "well, there."
"What can I do for you?"
"Club soda. You always have assholes like that in here?"
"More often then not. But some tip well."
"I'd think that they might be seeing more of those loose bills." Brown Eyes jerked a thumb behind him. A scantily clad small army of tiny waisted top heavy women worked the lower floor of the room.
"Yeah, but a girl has to have her principles. I mean look at that. Shaking their boobs those guys' faces, grinding up against their pants. Sure, the income must be nice, but not for everyone. That'll be $3.50."
Brown Eyes reached into his pocket and slid a twenty-spot on the bar.
"Keep it."
Amy smiled.
"Thanks, mister."
She reached for the bill but Brown Eyes kept his index finger on the cash. Amy gave him a look.
"Tell me about what the Russian was telling you. Something about Toby's?"
Amy drew her hand back and folded her arms.
"I wouldn't know anything about that. Now you gonna pay for your drink or are you gonna be a hard-on about it?"
Brown Eyes smiled easily and made the 20 disappear.
"Put it on my tab." Then he got up and dissapeared into a throng of dancing people.
Fucking prick, Amy thought. She went back to the bottles and checked them, this time for real. She was a little low on Vermouth, and needed to snag a few more bottles of Skyy from the back room. Amy walked from around the bar and took a right, down a little hallway, and unlocked a door then stepped through. Inside, there was another door a few feet down a corridor, and beyond that a descending flight of stairs.
She entered the store room, searched the stockpile of alcohol, grabbed what she needed, then got out. She carried an armfull of bottles back out to the bar. Amy placed them down on the rear counter when something caught her eye in the mirror. Amy spun around to see the cigarette floating in in the whiskey sour sitting on top of a twenty dollar bill. She checked her left and right but saw nothing. Amy put the money in her back pocket. She hastily made herself a Jose Cuervo and threw it back.
"What a guy." Amy said to herself as another asshole called for a drink at the end of the bar. She ignored him and put away her bottles. Amy decided to make herself another drink.
NEXT:
CHAPTER 15
"ROLLING WITH THE PUNCHES"
"WHISKEY SOUR"
Amy Dodd placed a napkin with a red star printed on it and a cold beverage on top of that. The guy was obnoxious and had semi-bad breath, but as long as he kept ordering drinks, she could give a shit. She offered Bad Breath a lukewarm smile, turned her back to the bar and faced a line of countless bottles in front of a bar length mirror.
Amy pretended to check several of the liquor bottles and make notes in her book. Amy pulled a weathered notebook from her low cut denims and pretended to make a note in it. Someone called from the end of the bar and she walked over. Markus Pavlov leaned on the bar, wearing tacky sportcoat over a tight wife beater. His undershirt appeared to glow brilliantly in the Red Star's black light. Markus was grinning like an idiot, but Amy tried to ignore it.
"What can I do for you, Markus?"
Markus pinched his lower lip and started to play with it.
"Oh, I can think of things that you could do to me. Or even things that I could do to you? What you say?"
Oh, just what I need, Amy thought.
"Cut it out. I'm working, here. Did you want something to drink or are you just trying to piss me off?"
He turned around and leaned against the marble bar. Markus looked over his shoulder and laughed.
"One of these days, you will come around. I know girls like you. You know what women used to call me back in my homeland?"
"No."
"Do you want to know?"
"No."
"The jackhammer. They call me the jackhammer. You know why they call me the jackhammer?"
This fucking guy, Amy thought. Maybe I should quit and go back to school. Be the vet that Mom always wanted me to be.
"Markus, I have work to do. Goodbye." Amy walked away when Markus turned around again and beckoned her to come back. She did not. Amy stood at the other end of the bar, gliding a rag over the surface. Markus appeared in front of her.
"Come now. Don't be like that. I'm tired very."
"Go away."
Markus didn't seem to hear.
"We brought in the one man, the man who shot up Toby's? You know what I talk of?"
Amy decided that she shouldn't wear any more revealing clothing to work. She liked the extra tips that she got for the push up halter tops, but it was always the same story with some of the customers; it just wasn't worth the hassle.
"I had to hit him many times."
"Markus, why are you telling me this?"
"You I like Amy Dodd. You remind me of a woman i knew back in my homeland. Did I tell you what they used to call me in my homeland?"
Amy put down the rag, placed her palms on the bar and leaned over in Markus' face.
"Leave. Me. Alone."
Markus reached up and touched Amy's chin with his knarled claw.
"You're so pretty, Amy Dodd. You've been told this, yes?"
Amy thought about taking his hand and twisinting his fingers into a pretzel. Maybe yank the half full bottle of Grey Goose behind her and bounce it off Markus' skull. Then spit on him. And dance on his face. She was wearing the perfect shoes for it.
Instead, she just turned away from the bar and faced the bottles. She could see Markus' reflection in the mirror, Markus checking out her ass, Markus leering like a fool, Markus not caring if she knew that he was watching. He finally turned heel and moved away from the bar. Amy clenched her knuckles, shut her eyes, and took a deep breath. She made the decision to find another gig. The bartending was okay, steady work, but not in a place like the Red Star. A man like Markus could never be 86'ed because he was one of the house boys, under the protection of Makar.
"Fuck this noise." Amy said under her breath.
"Hey."
Amy opened her eyes and looked into the mirror. Behind her sat a man with his elbows resting on the bar holding a lit cigarette. He wore a black tee shirt and looked as if he hadn't slept in days. She noticed his dark eyes making eye contact with her soft green ones in the mirror. Amy turned around and faced the new guy.
"You know California state law says that you can't smoke that in here."
"I'm sure that California state law says a lot of things."
He pulled of his cigarette and inhaled, then dropped the stog into the dregs of a nearby whiskey sour. Brown Eyes put his hands up as if to say "well, there."
"What can I do for you?"
"Club soda. You always have assholes like that in here?"
"More often then not. But some tip well."
"I'd think that they might be seeing more of those loose bills." Brown Eyes jerked a thumb behind him. A scantily clad small army of tiny waisted top heavy women worked the lower floor of the room.
"Yeah, but a girl has to have her principles. I mean look at that. Shaking their boobs those guys' faces, grinding up against their pants. Sure, the income must be nice, but not for everyone. That'll be $3.50."
Brown Eyes reached into his pocket and slid a twenty-spot on the bar.
"Keep it."
Amy smiled.
"Thanks, mister."
She reached for the bill but Brown Eyes kept his index finger on the cash. Amy gave him a look.
"Tell me about what the Russian was telling you. Something about Toby's?"
Amy drew her hand back and folded her arms.
"I wouldn't know anything about that. Now you gonna pay for your drink or are you gonna be a hard-on about it?"
Brown Eyes smiled easily and made the 20 disappear.
"Put it on my tab." Then he got up and dissapeared into a throng of dancing people.
Fucking prick, Amy thought. She went back to the bottles and checked them, this time for real. She was a little low on Vermouth, and needed to snag a few more bottles of Skyy from the back room. Amy walked from around the bar and took a right, down a little hallway, and unlocked a door then stepped through. Inside, there was another door a few feet down a corridor, and beyond that a descending flight of stairs.
She entered the store room, searched the stockpile of alcohol, grabbed what she needed, then got out. She carried an armfull of bottles back out to the bar. Amy placed them down on the rear counter when something caught her eye in the mirror. Amy spun around to see the cigarette floating in in the whiskey sour sitting on top of a twenty dollar bill. She checked her left and right but saw nothing. Amy put the money in her back pocket. She hastily made herself a Jose Cuervo and threw it back.
"What a guy." Amy said to herself as another asshole called for a drink at the end of the bar. She ignored him and put away her bottles. Amy decided to make herself another drink.
NEXT:
CHAPTER 15
"ROLLING WITH THE PUNCHES"